The screams woke Emily Saunders. Horror movie worthy shrieks of terror that had her jerking up in bed and panicking for a moment when she didn't immediately recognize her surroundings.
She flicked on the bedside lamp, noting fuzzily that it was 5:07 a.m. The bed and the rest of the hotel room furniture came into focus along with her thoughts. Right. She was back in Elk Crossing, Idaho, in her room at the Elk Crossing lodge.
For a second she wondered if the screams had been part of a nightmare. Her gaze drifted to the pumpkin colored bridesmaid dress hanging in the in the unfortunately see-through bag. No wonder she was having nightmares. When her cousin Leanne had asked her to be a bridesmaid, Emily had said yes, of course. She always said yes.
But she really thought she might have plucked up the courage to turn down the honor of being a bridesmaid had she known about the dresses. Pumpkin --the color-- was bad enough, but did the shape of the dress have to resemble the vegetable? Emily had worn some hideous bridesmaid gowns in her time, but this one really took the trick or treat candy.
She was about to flick off the light and try to get back to sleep when she heard more screaming. And it seemed to be coming from right outside her door.
Shoving her feet into her blue terry towel slippers and grabbing the matching robe off the end of the bed, she picked up her room key and ran to the door. Touch it first, she reminded herself, wishing she'd bothered, for once, to read that `in case of fire' map taped to the back of the door. She didn't feel heat, or smell smoke, but the commotion continued out there in the hallway.
Amid the screams she heard some soothing tones, and nobody seemed to be rushing for exits. Also, no fire alarm rang.
Curiosity had her cautiously opening her door.
The sight that met her eyes was - unusual.
A plump young woman, well endowed and naturally not wearing a bra in the middle of the night, was jumping up and down as though the carpet of the hotel was a trampoline. She was the one doing the screaming.
"I saw them. Crawling everywhere. They're on me, Ewww. Eeew," she bellowed.
A much skinnier woman with long arms and legs, wearing pink baby dolls and nothing else, shrieked, "I felt something. I think they're in my hair."
And the pair of them were off, screaming, shaking their heads and bouncing like crazed groupies at a Jonas Brothers' concert.
Emily stepped forward, wondering if they were on drugs of some kind.
A young guy in a hotel uniform was trying, with absolutely no success, to calm the women down. "Please, ladies, you're waking the other guests." He looked too young to wear a uniform, and a sheen of sweat covered his upper lip.
An older, gray-haired couple who'd put overcoats and outdoor shoes on, stared, as stunned as she. They spoke to each other in soft voices. The woman caught Emily's eye and shrugged in a `what do you do?' kind of way.
While Emily tried to recall what she knew of drug and alcohol poisoning, another door opened across the hall and a big, muscular, hairier-than-necessary man stepped out wearing nothing but boxer shorts with some brand of beer stamped on them. He was in his early thirties, she'd guess, with dark hair that stuck up on one side where he'd slept on it. His gaze took in the scene at once then snagged momentarily on the bouncing breasts.
"They're crawling on me, they're crawling on me," the girl screamed again.
Emily snapped to the useless guy in uniform, "Call 9-1-1. These women need medical attention."
Hairy guy walked up to the girls, showing everyone in the hallway an excellent physique. Muscular, hard, and drool-worthy, his near naked bod oozed testosterone and reminded her that she hadn't had sex in far too long. "You don't need 9-1-1," he said in a low, bottom-of-the-gravel-pit voice. "You need an exterminator."
Before her bemused gaze, he reached forward and plucked something from the plump girl's shoulder. He held a flat black speck out on the edge of his finger. It was the size of a flax seed. He showed it to the flustered fellow in uniform.
